


You Are a Tourist

by Stkirsch



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accountant Castiel, Chicago (City), College Student Dean, M/M, SPN AU Big Bang, SPN AU Big Bang 2016, Stripper Dean, Student Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-01-27
Packaged: 2018-09-20 05:36:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 22,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9477956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stkirsch/pseuds/Stkirsch
Summary: Overworked student Dean Winchester has been trying to stay on top of his money situation. He’s making grades during the day and stripping at night to make ends meet. One night while dressed in a cop stripper costume he escapes a particularly grabby party and manages to thwart a mugging. The fellow he rescues is new to Chicago, lonely, and can’t get the (drunken) image of the officer who saved him out of his head. Castiel searches him out to find him in some trouble, and from there begins an odd friendship and two searches for stability that become one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to my artist [Alec J Marsh](http://alecjmarsh.tumblr.com/post/156451393718/my-art-for-onthebanksoftheriverstupids-wonderful). I'd also like to thank my beta reader Naoe for all of her help and encouragement for my first big bang submission. All errors are my own. 
> 
> If your interested you can check me out on my Tumblr On the Banks of the River Stupid [here ](http://www.onthebanksoftheriverstupid.tumblr.com).
> 
> This is first in a series that will eventually have two more parts.

Dean hated having to wear his work clothes home but he had to get away from the bachelorette party he had been hired for in a hurry. There were only so many grabby drunken hands he could shrug off in one night and still keep it professional. He barely had enough time to pull the slacks of his Good Cop, Bad Cop stripper costume over his backside before the party hostess was rushing him out the door along with the duffle containing his street clothes and an envelope with his fee. 

"I'm sorry about this but you've gotta get out of here before the bride does something stupid, " she said with a harried look of panic. "Barbara's had a bit too much to drink and she's got that look in her eye. I will not be responsible for ruining my brother's wedding before it even happens!"

With a final apology, she scooped up the rest of his tip money from the boisterous bridesmaids, shoved it into the side pocket of his duffle, and ushered him out. 

That was a first. 

Dean knew he was something to look at but he'd never been let go from a job for being too enticing. Well, at least he got paid.

He decided to adjust his costume in the apartment building's lobby before heading home since it looked like he wouldn't have a place to change back into his street clothes. If he was going to have to wear his work clothes home at least he'd look the part of one of Chicago's finest; it would be less likely that someone would mess with him on his walk past the bars and businesses that surrounded the DePaul University campus. Street parking in the Lincoln Park area of Chicago was hard to come by and his car was parked several blocks away. 

Dean was two blocks from where he had left his car when he happened upon two shady looking characters as they knocked a rather drunken man to the sidewalk. The street punks were startled by Dean as he rounded the corner.

"Oh shit! It's a cop!” one exclaimed, eyes gone wide in surprise at having been caught in the middle of their attempted mugging.

Punk number one pulled the other away by the arm and started off down the street. With one last look in Dean and at the would-be victim’s direction, they disappeared into the shadows of the late Chicago night.

Dean didn’t bother to chase them, since, well, he wasn’t a real cop and the drunk guy looked like he could use some help.

"Lucky for you I happened along when I did," Dean said as he helped the man he had saved to his feet. 

"Thanks officer."

Keeping a hold of the man's hand and shoulder to steady him he said, "Just call me Dean. I’m Dean Winchester"

"Well, Officer Winchester,” the man shook his hand in response, “Cas, Castiel Novak. Thanks again."

Dean was about to correct him but thought better of it. The guy looked too tipsy to comprehend much, judging from the way he leaned in close and stared deeply into Dean's eyes. 

Not that Dean minded. 

Castiel was fairly attractive, even in his drunken state. His hair was tousled as if he had been running his fingers through it and, while his eye color was hard to discern under the street lights, his gaze was intense. When he spoke, the rich tones of his voice were smooth enough to charm the pants off any number of ladies or men. 

"You look a little roughed up and out off it. Is there someone I can call for you?" Dean asked. He didn't much like the thought of leaving the guy he'd just rescued alone to fend for himself. 

"No, no one." Castiel sounded dejected. "The person I was with ditched me and left the bar with someone else. I came out here to call a cab," he said as he began to pat himself down searching for something.

Dean looked around and saw an open leather wallet a few feet away, along with a shattered mess that had once been the man’s cell phone. "Is this what you're looking for? It looks like they got all of your cash, but the phone still looks like it may work. You’re gonna have to replace that screen though," he said as he handed the billfold and phone back to Castiel.

"Shit. So much for a cab," Castiel groaned as he inspected his wallet, thank god his credit cards were all still there, and fiddled with his phone. Despite its severely cracked screen the phone appeared to still be functional.

Dean debated for a moment. He really didn’t like the thought of leaving the guy without cash or a phone to call for help, but calling the police really wasn’t an option. His cop outfit might not be well received by a real officer. That left him only one other option.

"Look, I just got off work. My car's just a few blocks away. I can give you a ride if you like."

"I'd really appreciate that."

They walked the two remaining blocks to the car in relative silence. The guy must have been a little drunker than Dean initially thought considering how close the man was to Dean's side as they walked. Add in the sideways glances that Castiel kept tossing his way and it made for some awkward drunken staring. 

Last time someone looked at him like that he got laid.

“Now listen,” Dean said as they approached his car, “Baby is the single most important thing I own. If you think for even a second that you’re going to puke you better say something! This car’s gone almost fifty years without someone throwing up in her, I’m not about to start now. You got it?”

“Understood,” Castiel gave Dean a mock salute for emphasis.

"Let me unlock your door, " Dean said, pulling the keys from his pocket. He opened the passenger side door while Cas leaned against him. Castiel practically fell into the passenger seat, proving to Dean he really was either drunker than Dean had thought or he was the world’s least coordinated person. Most likely drunk, no one could be that clumsy.

Dean eased himself behind the wheel and turned to face Cas, "Where to?"

Castiel mumbled a response as he turned the ignition.

“You said your car’s almost fifty years old?”

He threw Castiel an excited grin as he maneuvered the car away from the curb. Any interest in Baby earned the guy instant points.

For the next quarter hour the topic of discussion was Dean’s beloved 1967 Chevy Impala. Castiel didn’t understand much about cars but he could recognize passion when he saw it, so he was more than happy to listen. Dean spoke with pride and had become more animated with each occasional question Cas would ask.

As they got closer to their destination, Dean realized, with some embarrassment that he had monopolized the conversation. 

"So how is it you’ve got no one to call?" Dean asked while they were at a red light. 

“I recently moved here from Peoria for a job."

 

“Have you been in the city very long?”  
“Not very,” Cas replied. He’d only been in Chicago for a few months.

Before Dean could ask anything more he had turned onto North Orchard Street and stopped at the address Cas had given him. 

Cas got out and Dean let out a slow whistle, "You must be pulling in some serious bank to be able to live in this part of town."

Castiel hunched down and folded his arms on the open window. 

"Meh, it's a living, not as fulfilling as some pursuits. I bet you’ve had some hot pursuits yourself. With looks like yours I know I wouldn’t mind being frisked and cuffed." Cas babbled as he leaned in and eyed Dean's uniformed profile.

 

Woah! Dean thought. He had a flirty drunk on his hands!

“You’ve got to be a bad guy for me to do that. Have you been a bad guy, Cas?” Dean leered in response. After all, it couldn't hurt to flirt back.

With a throaty chuckle Cas straightened himself, walked away, looked over his shoulder and winked. “Thanks again for the lift!” he shouted as he clumsily climbed the steps to his house.

 

Dean waved back and headed home. 

His night had been an interesting one to say the least. What had begun as a failed--albeit paying--stripping gig had resulted in him rescuing and chauffeuring an attractive drunken man. 

If the guy had been sober, Dean would have probably asked for his phone number. Considering the man was new to the city, Dean might have stood a decent chance at securing a date, especially if he hadn't had a chance to make many acquaintances other than unreliable coworkers. 

But then again maybe not. The drunkenness could have been responsible for the mixed "I’m into you" vibes that Dean kept getting off the man. 

As he mounted the stairs to his apartment, he didn't give the events of the evening much thought apart from viewing them as another missed opportunity. After all, the next day would bring more of his boring routine: studying, research, and stripping gigs to pay his way through school. With his double major he didn't have much room for a social life anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

Cas groggily awoke the following morning to the sound of his cell phone ringing. He was sprawled atop his bed, tangled up in his trench coat. He pawed at the bedside table in a abortive attempt to grab his phone and growled when he couldn’t find it. Damn it! Where the fuck was it?

The incessant ringing continued, each new bleating tone like a piercing blow to the temple. The longer he searched for his phone the more the pain in his head increased and the more agitated he became. He continued to fumble around blindly, best to squint and keep his eyes closed as much as possible. The bright morning sunlight that shone through his window was making his head feel like it would explode. Cas patted the bed frantically, but to no avail. Please God make it stop!

He sighed in relief when the phone went silent.

Cas groaned and thanked God and all that was holy that the noise had stopped. He lay back on his bed with his arm over his eyes and tried to take a deep breath, but all of his flailing had seemed to set off a chain reaction. His sudden movements had triggered a turbulence in his stomach. Oh this was not good, not good at all! He hurried to clamp his hand over his mouth as he lurched over the side of the bed and scrambled for a nearby waste basket. He felt actual tears as he gripped the basket and vomited into it.

As Cas lay there with his head hanging off the side of the bed his phone had begun to ring again.  
He managed to locate the phone this time around in the pocket of his trenchcoat. He nicked his finger on its shattered screen as he went to answer.

"Hello?" Cas winced at sting of pain on his cut finger and the ache that speaking produced in his head.

"Ah Castiel, sorry for skipping out on you last night."

"Crowley?" Despite knowing his colleague's first name, Cas couldn't bring himself to call him Fergus. And people said Cas' name sucked; at least he could shorten it to something that sounded good. "Skipping out? What the hell are you talking about?"

"The co-ed at the bar practically sold her soul for an opportunity with the firm's internship program. How could I resist?"

"Really?" Cas huffed.

"There's nothing wrong with what I did Mr Holier-than-thou! I'll keep my end of the deal. We even sealed it with a kiss before heading back to my place for the main event," Crowley replied with the confidence of a man who often partook in nefarious dealings and escaped unscathed.

"If you were exchanging job opportunities for sexual favors, how did I get home? " Cas groused.

"What’s that? Didn't you take a cab? You said you'd be fine finding your own way home."

"Honestly, I have no recollection of last night. I woke up in my bed with a raging hangover and a shattered phone," Cas groaned, pressing the heels of his palms into his throbbing eyes. 

“You didn’t by any chance get lucky did you?" Teased Crowley. "No companion to jog your memory?"

"Doubtful. I woke up alone and fully clothed. There's no sign that anyone else has been in the house either," he muttered as he stumbled to the bathroom to get some aspirin and a glass of water to help his pounding head. 

"Sounds like you had a rough night after I left. Get some more rest and we'll see if you remember anything when you hit the office on Monday."

Cas just sighed and glared at the phone once his colleague ended the call. 

He struggled to recall the events of the previous evening. It obviously had involved copious amounts of alcohol for him to feel this poorly and to not remember much. 

After taking some painkillers, affixing a bandaid to his cut finger, and relieving himself, he stripped off his clothes and crawled back into bed. He'd worry about piecing his memory back together after his hangover was gone. He was in too much pain to do anything other than sleep.

 

The second time he awoke, Cas was lucid enough to recall how he'd gotten home and the reason for his drunk and woozy state. He'd had too much to drink and been abandoned by Crowley, followed by being mugged when he had stood outside the bar trying to hail a cab. 

On his way to grab a second round of aspirin, Cas caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He had a sizable bump on his forehead, just below the hairline, and a split lip. 

Alright then, that explained part of his headache. It wasn't just a hangover. Thank goodness that officer had happened along when he did. It was good to have some answers. 

Cas did remember how attracted he had been to the cop who had helped him. Damn! If he hadn’t been so out of it he could have perhaps gotten to know the guy a little. He hadn’t gotten a phone number so he couldn't even call the man and thank him. Cas finally had had someone flirt with him and show some interest...or was that just the booze talking? Hadn't there been some discussion about handcuffs? 

Drunkenness aside, the officer had definitely left an impression. Cas thought about how the man’s eyes had sparked when he asked if Cas had been a “bad guy” and he imagined what it would have felt like to be man-handled and pressed up against the car as strong hands patted him down. 

It was just his luck he’d been too drunk to seize the opportunity. Yet, despite not knowing anything else about his good Samaritan, he did remember a name: Dean Winchester.

****

Monday morning found Cas still feeling some ill effects of Saturday evening’s mugging. In retrospect, perhaps he should have asked the officer that had come to his rescue to take him to the nearest ER. Maybe he had had a concussion. Or maybe he just felt like shit in general. Maybe the isolation of living in a new city without acquaintances was taking its toll. The pervasive loneliness he was feeling was starting to cast a pall over his morning routine and desire to even get out of bed.

As he rode the Brown Line into the financial district, he thought back on what had lead him to the Windy City. He’d always believed that if he ever lived in a major metropolitan area, Chicago would be the place for him. 

He had been right, but that was before the depression had set in. 

His Lincoln Park neighborhood had everything a single urban explorer could ask for. The close proximity to the DePaul University campus made for an eclectic mix of neighbors ranging from college students to young professionals like himself, to highly paid executives and their families that were slowly gentrifying the area.

He scanned the interior of the bus and numbly spied a stern woman in gray pantsuit, black pumps, and a severe bun. She wore a sour expression much like the one his mother had met him with when he had told her of his desire to study art or philosophy.

“There’s no money in it Castiel,” she had argued. “You must do something serious with your life. What will you do with a philosophy degree, think deep thoughts about being unemployed?”

He struggled with how he could make her understand that it wasn’t a matter of money, but a matter of personal satisfaction and quality of life. How was he to explain that he viewed employment as a means to an end: that he didn’t need his degree to define him, that he wanted to work so he could live his life, not live his life to work.

“And as for art,” she had scoffed, “I refuse to pay for you to get a useless degree. Our family is better than that. I won’t support anything that prevents you from being self sufficient!”

Despite his attempts to reason with her, his mother and the rest of his family were satisfied with nothing less than a professional degree, one in a field with excellent employment prospects. Feeling cornered, he had settled on a degree in accounting. Any other degree that they would have considered appropriate would have required more time and effort than he was willing to give.

His move to the city had been a compromise between his own creative pursuits and his family’s white-collar expectations. He viewed it as a place that would nurture and capture his imagination despite being tethered to a boring and undesirable position in accountancy. There was so much for him to do besides slave away in an office. Here he could live the life he had wanted for himself, while living the the life his family had wanted for him.

He had come to Chicago in awe of its turn of the century architecture, eager to explore his surroundings and the people around him. He had hoped to capture the feel of the city in either words or pencil strokes. 

The feeling hadn’t lasted.

The escape to Chicago had become a lonely existence. His family, when he spoke to them, only wished to discuss his professional success. No encouragement for his intellectual or artistic pursuits was forthcoming. Work provided little pleasure and few distractions.

While Cas enjoyed the urban feel and convenience of the local eateries, bars, theaters, and ongoing events, he had found with each new major home renovation that a little part of the neighborhood’s history was dying and with it his desire to capture its essence. It’s one thing to have a Five Guys burgers down the block or Whole Foods a mile or so away, but to strip down and gut the old brownstones on his street seemed excessive in its progress. He considered himself lucky that the condo he had found had been built in 1902 and still had its charm. Sure it had been renovated and turned into a multi-family dwelling, but it still held fast to the original feel and pulse of the city, unlike the newly renovated homes on the street that looked like they had interiors straight out of Architectural Digest.

The White City, the Chicago of the 1893 World’s Fair was no more and he needed someone to pull him into this century while still assuring him that his appreciation wasn’t misplaced. What he needed was someone to share his thoughts with, someone who could appreciate his fascination with places, the people that inhabited them, their history, and the stories and character that places developed over time. He needed someone to encourage his creativity, someone who viewed the world the way he did. 

The brown line finally arrived at his stop and Cas realized he had to snap out of his fugue. He'd have to do something about his state of mind and soon. Clients didn't much care for his brooding nature. Sadly, the most excitement he'd had in months was his chance drunken encounter with the officer who'd given him a ride home on Saturday night.


	3. Chapter 3

On most Mondays Dean tried to meet up with his brother for lunch between classes. With his busy school schedule, and evenings, and weekends spent stripping for money, it was the only day of the week they had a chance to get together. Banko’s was their go-to lunch location, since Dean refused to eat dining hall or concession food on campus.

“The funniest thing happened to me the other day Sammy,” Dean shared while waiting for his Italian hot beef to cool a bit. “I got to play the hero for once: I stopped a mugging! The assholes saw me coming towards them, thought I was a cop, and ran!”

Sam gave his brother an incredulous look as he reached across the table and snatched one of Dean’s fries. “How on earth would anyone take you for a cop?”

“Well,” Dean said while nervously rubbing the back of his neck, “I kind of had to wear one of my uniforms home the other night. It was weird. I got thrown out of a bachelorette party; never had that happen before.”

“You wore your cop outfit home?? What the hell is the matter with you Dean?” Sam gave Dean one of those “you’re two dumb to live” looks.

“What? Don’t look at me like I’m stupid. You think I would have done that if I had a choice? I got thrown out, I didn’t have anywhere to change!”

“Good thing you weren't stopped by an actual cop. You could have been arrested for impersonating an officer in a getup like that. It's a little too authentic.”

“What can I say, the ladies like it. Apparently the guy I rescued liked it too, considering the comments he made about being frisked and cuffed. But yeah, I guess you're right. He kept calling me officer. He was a little too out of it for me to even bother correcting him,” huffed Dean. 

“You sound a little disappointed.”

“Not as disappointed as I am watching you eat another veggie burger when you could be enjoying something as heavenly as this,” Dean said before taking a bite of his Italian beef. His eyes fluttered closed as he savored and moaned around his mouthful of sandwich. 

“He seemed interested, but I think that was just because he was slightly wasted. No sense putting in the effort if a person's gonna forget you in the morning,” he said with a shrug before taking another bite.

Sam pulled a face and snipped, “Well thank god you have some sense of decency about you. It wouldn't do to take advantage of some drunk guy.”

“Do you really think so little of me, Sammy? I meant he probably wouldn't have remembered my name or number if I’d given it to him, you moron. Even if I had been looking for a some action, I wouldn’t hook up with drunk person.” 

“Besides,” he added, poking at his sandwich, “it’s not like I have a lot of time for dating anyway. All of my free time is spent hustling to pay for my share of our rent and tuition.”

Dean looked up from his sandwich just in time to notice Sam flinch.

“What's the matter? What'd I say?”

Now it was Sam's turn to look sheepish. “Well, I heard back from Stanford Law School. I have to attend starting next semester. They won't let me wait another year.”

Dean briefly looked stunned before pulling himself together. “I still have a year to go with my degree Sam, not including my thesis hours and research.“

“I know. I get it Dean. I'm sorry but I've already deferred enrollment by a year. If I don't go now, I'll lose my spot.“

Dean rubbed his hands down his face trying to quell the nausea that threatened to overtake him, his sandwich half eaten and forgotten. “Yeah, yeah, I understand Sammy. You gotta do what's right for you and I've held you back long enough. I'll figure something out.”

“Dean, I-” Sam struggled to find something to say. He fidgeted and tore the bun of his veggie burger into chunks as he looked dolefully at his brother.

“Forget it Sam.”

“But -”

“I said forget it!” Dean raised his voice as he pushed away from the table and grabbed his backpack. “Look, I gotta go I'm gonna be late for class.”

Sam solemnly watched his brother retreat through the restaurant entrance, no doubt looking to shield Sam from his distress.

****

If Dean had taken his education more seriously in his youth, and actually graduated high school rather than using his family’s nomadic lifestyle as an excuse for not studying, he'd probably be done already. But when he was younger, school hadn’t been his strong suit. He just wasn't the brain that Sam was. It took years for Sam to convince him to get his GED, and even longer for him to really find a passion for school and figure out what he wanted to do with his life.

In a way it was easier before he'd had his own plans and dreams: no tuition fees for his own schooling, and all his wages, blood, sweat, and tears went to making sure Sam had what he needed. He was the older brother. That's the way it was supposed to work. It was Dean's job to make sure that Sam got what he needed to succeed in life. That's what Dad had always told him to do: take care of Sammy.

Dean had so not been prepared for Sam's Stanford news. What the hell was he even going to do? He couldn't be angry at him though. He couldn't blame his brother for having a dream and chasing after it. As it was, Sam had already put his plans on hold for a year in an attempt to help Dean have some financial stability while he completed his degrees, and he shouldn't have had to do that in the first place. It was always supposed to be the other way around. 

Dean should have known better than to hope. Nothing good ever came from wanting something for himself. He wasn't resentful, just resigned and tired. 

He sat at a cubicle in the campus library going over his options. He could take on another roommate, but then you never quite knew what you were signing up for. If he cut back on his course load he could take on another job, but that would set him back even farther time wise, not to mention the adverse effect more work hours would have on his studying. When would he find time to research? He could drop either of his anthropology or sociology majors, but that wouldn't really produce much savings at this point in the game and he really didn't like the thought of letting one of them go after he'd put so much work in on both of the programs. No matter how he looked at it Dean couldn't think of a reasonable solution. 

Maybe he could take on more stripping and instant telegram-type gigs. He pulled his planner from his backpack and looked over the jobs he already had booked for the week. His Friday evening job had the possibility of becoming a recurring gig, a steady job with above average pay. If he really hustled, tightened his food budget (God, he hated ramen noodles), and stashed every little bit of income that came his way he might, just might, be able to save enough to cover one semester without Sam’s assistance. Man, his life for the next year and a half while he finished school was going to suck. If he thought he hadn’t had time for socializing before, he definitely wouldn't have any now.

Whatever he decided, he wouldn't have time to think of it again for a while. He had another class to get to. Dean sighed and gathered his things from the library desk. 

No rest for the weary.


	4. Chapter 4

Cas spent the bulk of Monday carefully reviewing client accounts, working on presentations, and calculating the best recommendations for client portfolios. The piles of paperwork on his desk had kept him occupied much of the day. He hadn't stopped for a lunch or break and continued into the late evening. Burying himself in work helped fend off the slow building misery he'd felt earlier in the day. He was startled when Crowley knocked and poked his head through the door to Cas’ office.

“You're still here, Castiel? I thought you'd gone home already.”

“What do you want Crowley?”

“Oh, I don't know, I just thought I'd check in and see if you'd recovered from your hangover. Last I spoke to you you were rather fuzzy on Saturday night's details and you’ve sequestered yourself in your office all day.”

Catching the look of irritation on his colleague's face and quirked eyebrow Cas quickly mumbled his apologies. It was rather rude of him to respond to Crowley the way he had when the man had only been inquiring about his well being.

“I remembered the rest of the events of Saturday evening. I was mugged. An off duty police officer came to my aid and drove me home.”

“Ah, that explains that bump on your noggin and the cut lip, “Crowley replied with a look of comprehension. “Well surely he called the incident in then? Did you file a police report?” 

“No, he was a beat cop, a very attractive beat cop. He was walking back to his personal vehicle at the end of his shift, so no police radio. I got his name though.”

“Well, that’s a start. You should probably contact the local precinct and see about getting a report filed, see if you can get in contact with that attractive officer that helped you,” Crowley teased.

Cas looked a little flustered at the encouraging look his colleague had just given him. 

“I'll look into it. Thank you for the suggestion.”

While he wasn't sure how useful filing a report would be given the circumstances it would at least allow him the opportunity to speak with Officer Winchester again. A sober conversation would be preferable to the drunken ramblings he had no doubt subjected the other man to. 

Crowley’s voice disrupted his musings, “Come on mate, you better head home unless you want to risk being mugged again this time of night. You're really quite lucky someone helped you last time. In this city that's not likely to happen again.”

“You're right. It is late. Give me a moment and I'll leave with you,” Cas replied while he gathered his suit jacket, trench coat, and briefcase.

He and Crowley bid each other farewell as they exited the building and went their separate ways. Cas was confident that he'd make it back to his apartment in one piece and Crowley wasn't the type to stand on chivalry and offer his coworker a ride home, which was just as well since he had already proved his unreliability the night Cas was mugged.

Cas’ trip home was uneventful. As it wasn't terribly late, he stopped at a Five Guys Burgers to grab some dinner and opted to walk the few blocks home from there. 

As he sat at his kitchen table enjoying his late dinner of a double cheeseburger and greasy fries, Cas considered again what Crowley had suggested. It really couldn't hurt to look into filing a police report. Worst case scenario, nothing would come of it; best case, he would get to talk to Dean Winchester again and the whole process would give him something to do besides work. 

Cas went to bed that evening with a plan for the following day. 

****

Between meetings and presentations Cas tried to contact the police about his mugging. Surprisingly, it wasn't as easy a task as he thought it would be. He needed to know the police precinct that would have patrolled the area where the crime was committed as well as remember where it occurred. He had hoped to live in Chicago without ever having to have contact with the police. Of course that’s really what everyone hoped for, to live their lives peacefully and never have to be troubled with law enforcement; yet here he was trying to navigate the system just so he could file an incident report.

He found himself outside Crowley’s office looking for assistance. Cas took a deep as he knocked on the door frame to announce his presence and strolled in to take a seat at his friend’s desk. 

“Where did we go for drinks again? Was it Crossroads Public House? I've got to look up the address so I know what police station to contact.”

“You really don't remember much of that night do you? I suggested Crossroads but you turned your nose up at the sports bar aesthetic-”

“That place has no character.” Cas interrupted. “I remember that much.”

”- so we went to the Red Lion Pub instead. I have to admit our second choice was far superior, much better atmosphere. Although, if we had gone to Crossroads that officer probably could have walked you home.”

Cas thought back on the situation. He most likely wouldn’t have even stayed out as late as he had if they’d chosen the other bar in the first place. He would have excused himself and headed home the moment Crowley began to chat up someone else at the bar, so he supposed he bore some responsibility for the events that took place. Had they gone to Crossroads he would have been in an area familiar to him and would have been more aware of his surroundings.

“If we'd gone to Crossroads I'm sure things would have played out differently anyways, but thanks,” Cas conceded as he rose from his seat and headed back towards his own office. “I'll look up the address and call about it when I get home.”

What seemed like a straightforward task ended up being a lot more difficult than he had originally anticipated. When Cas called the police department on North Lincoln, the closest one to the Red Lion, they had no record of an officer Winchester on the rolls. The desk sergeant suggested that he try either the Clark Street or the Belmont Avenue locations. Having no luck at either of those stations he decided to call other stations farther away. After several hours of calling with no results he was ready to give up. If it hadn't been for the fact that he'd been given a ride home he would have thought officer Winchester was a product of his inability to handle his liquor. Maybe he had the name wrong. 

There was nothing to be done about it now. He had already tried to locate Officer Winchester for several days. It was late and he had another long day at the office ahead of him. He’d try again the following day.


	5. Chapter 5

Fridays for Dean were both a blessing and a curse. He had fewer courses, so he had more time to study or work on research papers, but he also had more stripping gigs. Friday was one of his busiest nights. As it was, Sam’s Stanford news had sent him into a tailspin that he hadn’t yet recovered from. He'd been unable to concentrate on any of his assignments until today. 

Dean walked into an older computer lab on campus. Because this particular lab was usually less crowded, it was his prefered lab of choice. There were fewer people to fight over each computer terminal. It was one of the few labs that had not yet been renovated or upgraded, thus making it undesirable amongst most of the student body, well that and the garish red, yellow, and orange chairs at each work station that strained people’s eyes as much as the bright computer screens.

Clunky CRT monitors softly hummed, filling the room with a barely noticeable buzz. Desk space was sparse, the bulk of it taken up with ancient (by technology’s standards) monitors and oversized keyboards. He supposed the lack of new equipment was why his friend Charlie had been assigned to oversee the lab. If anyone could keep those old computers going, she could. 

Dean tossed his backpack onto the nearest desk with a loud thump and sent a keyboard crashing toward the floor. Luckily he had caught it in time. Charlie was good at keeping things in the lab running but he was fairly certain even she couldn’t repair a smashed piece of equipment. After placing the keyboard back on the desk at his computer terminal he slumped into the hard plastic chair. Several students glared at the disturbance.

He had had every intention of dedicating several hours to writing but that went by the wayside the moment he heard his friend’s familiar voice. 

“That's one heck of an entrance. Are you doing alright?”

Dean looked up to see his friend Charlie who was sporting an open purple and magenta plaid button up over a black tee shirt with a yellow pie chart on the front, the words under the chart and an arrow pointed at the yellow saying resembles Pac-man and words and an arrow directed at a black piece of the chart which read does not resemble Pac-man.

“Actually, no. I'm overwhelmed. I have a lot of work to do,” Dean said as he ran his hand down his face. 

“Usually when you have a heavy workload you spend more time in the lab. I haven't seen you all week and I've been waiting for you to show up so I could ask you if you wanted to join me and the rest of the geek brigade for a LARP in the park session in Oz Park this weekend.”

Dean realized how much writing and research he'd let slip while he considered what he was going to do to stay in school. Normally excess coursework was something he could roll with, but the added stress he was under had him entirely off his game. If he didn't budget his time carefully he'd be in a world of trouble. LARPing, no matter how much he enjoyed it, was out of the question.

He leaned over the desk and grasped his head in his hands. 

“No can do your majesty. You'll have to find yourself another handmaiden. I'm screwed. Completely and utterly screwed. My weekends are going to be booked solid from here on out.”

The petite redhead continued to press, “All right, what's up? You never pass up a chance to join my band of merry men.” 

He really wasn't one to vent or unburden his soul to anyone, but Charlie had a way of getting information out of him. She could hack his psyche as easily as she could hack a computer. Before he knew what he was doing he had already filled her in on his predicament. 

“Oh wow, that's not good.”

“Tell me about it,” Dean muttered.

“Do you have a plan? Rent is insane, let alone monthly parking.”

“And don't forget tuition. I was barely managing splitting rent with Sam. Without his help I'll have to come up with at least an extra grand a month. Stripping pays well but I'll have to book at least one more gig every week just to get by.”

“Too bad prostitution isn't legal. It seems like you always have some horny individual hitting you up at your gigs.”

“Number one: ewww, and number two: don't objectify me! I get enough of that from the clients as is.” He sighed. “Then again I suppose that is the whole point of my job. “

Despite how miserable a mood the situation put him in he felt a tad better after he had talked things over with his friend. It wasn't something he could comfortably discuss with Sam. Having an unaffected party to discuss things helped him process things a little better. 

“I can check around and see if any of my friends are looking for your services but it's highly unlikely. You're kind of the wrong type for my crowd,” Charlie chuckled. “You may be pretty but I think my girls would prefer a more shapely figure if you catch my drift.”

“I hear you. Just remember, straight women, gay men, whatever someone's orientation their money spends the same and I'm going to need as much of it as I can get.”

“Sure, sure, anything I can do to help.”

Just then another student in the lab began to sob uncontrollably. The young woman looked frantic. She had the panicked look a person gets when months’ of research has suddenly disappeared from a hard drive.

“Speaking of help, I've got to go rescue someone.” 

Charlie waved a Vulcan salute and headed towards the distressed woman. 

Dean needed to get started on his papers anyway. He fished his thumb drive out of his pocket and set to work. He'd already wasted enough time bringing Charlie up to speed. He had to be across town by seven for the dance party. The job had the potential to become a recurring gig. Luckily he'd come prepared and brought his change of clothes with him. He couldn’t risk messing up this opportunity.

“Officer Winchester” would be making another appearance tonight.

****

“Did you ever report your mugging?” Crowley asked as he and Cas grabbed a quick lunch from a Vienna Beef cart outside the main entrance of their office building.

Cas tipped his head to the side and glared at Crowley as he pocketed his change and took his Chicago dog from the street vendor.

“No. I don't understand why this holds so much interest for you. It really isn't of any import.”

“Listen to yourself. ‘it really isn't of any import’,” Crowley mocked. “It concerns me because you're slipping up at work, Castiel. You've been distracted all week and if your numbers go down, the department's reports go down with them. Remember, we have to work together to keep the vice president of accounts off our backs.”

Cas heard what his colleague was saying but couldn't really bring himself to care much. When did he begin to become disinterested in his job? He'd transferred to Chicago with quite a few hopes and dreams, but, if he was being honest with himself, no great love of his job or profession.

“I haven't been able to find any information on Officer Winchester.” He admitted this sullenly, knowing he wasn’t going to hear the end of it.

“And? What does that have to do with you filing a police report?”

“Well it isn't like there's anyone else to corroborate my story,” Cas trailed off at the scathing look he received from Crowley. 

“Just file the bloody report and get your head back in the game, for Christ’s sake,” he grunted, as he wadded up his lunch waste and threw it into a streetside garbage bin. He shouted over his shoulder as he marched towards their building, “We've got client portfolios to compile!”

Cas’ head dropped in defeat as he considered what Crowley had said. He supposed it really didn't matter if he found Officer Winchester again or not, despite his hopes of meeting the man again. Finding the cop had been something for him to keep his mind occupied and look forward to during the week. He'd have to abandon all hope and just go down to the North Lincoln police station to report on last Saturday’s incident. 

As much as he hated to admit it, Crowley was right. He'd been too distracted of late to do his job well.

That settled the matter. Later this evening he would file a police report, spend the weekend trying to forget a certain green-eyed officer, and hopefully find something else to distract him from his melancholy so he could return to the happy productive worker he once was. Maybe he’d try to force himself to focus on some art. His general malaise couldn't last forever, could it? 

Decision made, Cas finished his dog and headed back to his office. He had a ton of work to catch up on if he didn't want to owe his soul to Crowley.


	6. Chapter 6

Tonight's gig was a new experience for Dean, a trial run so to speak. It had a lot of potential, but it also gave him a lot of pause. He wasn't sure what to expect.

Dean had been hired as one of several acts to strip at a Glo Light Rave in an empty warehouse not far from the college campus. Raves were common in big cities. There was a lot of money to be made by the DJs, promoters, and bartenders that participated and by association, a lot of money to be made by him as someone in their employ.

There was one platform in each corner of the dance floor, complete with a stripping pole for those dancers inclined to use it. He was set to take a small rectangular platform stage every two hours. Dean would dance for an hour, have an hour to rest, or drink, mix and mingle, and then advance to the next raised dance platform. After each routine was completed he would rotate to the next platform at the appropriate time. It wasn't his usual kind of gig. But considering the amount he'd been offered for eight hours of work (actually only four since he had an hour break between each set) plus the tips, he'd negotiated to keep all of them rather than a percentage in exchange for a slightly discounted nightly rate, he stood to earn quite a bit of money.

He surveyed the large expanse of the warehouse from his perch. The crowd pulsed and gyrated around him, a sea of glow sticks and glow necklaces bouncing in the darkness while strobes lit up his platform. Women and not a few men reached up to tuck money into his uniform and later his g-string as more pieces of his ensemble were removed. He smiled across at the DJ mixing techno and dance music. This was going to be a very good night.

If he could book a few gigs like this each month, he might not have too much trouble making rent after all. Of course he'd have to get used to the shitty music but it was a small sacrifice in exchange for economic security.

Dean had started his second set in the evening’s rotation when he looked across the room at the person manning the sound system. Gabriel, the DJ and sole proprietor of Sugar Rush Productions, popped a sucker into his mouth and winked back at Dean before reaching under his turntable and coming up with buckets of candy to throw into the crowd. Hundreds of college students and twenty somethings roared and lunged to catch the sweet projectiles. Dean laughed and continued removing his layers. He had to hand it to Gabe. He sure knew how to work a crowd.

Dean’s mind boggled at the sheer number of people attending and involved in pulling off the rave. Gabriel had hired at least sixteen stripper/dancers to afford each of them enough time in between routines to rest as well as mingle. During his hour long break before taking the next platform he danced some and then visited the bar.

“What will it be?” a sandy haired bartender with a distressed deep v-neck tee asked.

“Gimme a Del Sol.”

Dean reached for his wallet but was waved off as the bartender handed him his beer.

“It's on the house; Gabriel’s orders.”

“Really? Thanks uh…” he stuttered reaching out to shake hands.

“Balthazar,” answered the other man, introducing himself with a lascivious leer. “And you're Officer Dean Winchester.”

Dean blushed.

“Hahaha well, well, well, that is interesting considering your line of work. Don't worry, gorgeous! I'm only teasing. You forgot Gabriel announces your moniker every time you ascend the platform.”

“Yeah, well can it. It's not exactly something I'm used to and I do have other outfits.”

“I'm sure you do. Let me guess: firefighter, gym teacher, federal agent, maybe a french maid for the really kinky types.”

“Nah, I draw the line at the real skimpy costumes. It isn’t like my goal is to actually get people off. Tittlate, yeah, but I gotta set some limits you know? Besides, the more clothing to remove the bigger the build up is and the greater the tips” Dean confided. “Thanks again for the beer. I gotta get back to work.”

The longer Dean was in the warehouse, the more uncomfortable he became with its hedonistic atmosphere. As he stripped on his platform he could swear he witnessed people actually having sex on the dance floor. That definitely made him question what he’d said to the bartender earlier. The thought of horny people getting it on in the crowd made him feel a little like one of those nude dancers in a peep show. He wondered if this was what it felt like to dance behind a clear partition while deviant men ejaculated on the glass. The thought made him shudder.There was no doubt in his mind that in addition to the copious amounts of sex and alcohol consumption around him, people were dealing and using drugs too. He continued to bump and grind, all the while praying he’d finish his shift without something bad going down.

That many people partying in a confined space was just a recipe for disaster.

Dean finished his next set, got back in uniform and headed back to the bar for another drink.

“Another Del Sol?” Balthazar asked.

“Nah, I think I need something a little stronger. This place is starting to make me nervous.”

“Nervous? Come on live a little! Life’s too short to not partake of all of its pleasures. Look at this place! You could have a ménage à trois, or quatre, a cinq here and no one would stop you. Hell, you could even have a ménage à douze, if you wanted! Sex, drugs and rock ‘n roll, man! What more could you ask for?”

Dean snorted, “Dude, are you always this smarmy?”

“I prefer to think of myself as eager,” Balthazar winked.

“And man, this is nowhere near rock ‘n roll!”

“Well classic rock doesn’t necessarily inspire orgies now does it?”

“There’s something seriously wrong with you.”

Balthazar’s expression went from cheeky to startled in an instant. As Dean was facing the bartender and bar he had his back turned to the rest of the warehouse. He noticed the change in the other man’s demeanor and was about to ask what the hell was wrong when he heard someone shout over the crowd.

“SHUT IT DOWN! SHUT IT DOWN NOW!” an armed man yelled at Gabriel.

People stopped or slowed their dancing everywhere to face the source of the shouting.

Gabe instantly complied and attempted to show the officer his permit for the rave but the officer couldn’t be troubled to listen, too engrossed in his mission to clear the premises. Gabriel was a meticulous business man; he’d be crazy not to make sure that all of his paperwork was in order. He had even hired private security for the event.

“Oh shit,” Dean and Balthazar hissed in unison.

In addition to the hundreds of partying people, the warehouse was being overrun by heavily armed police officers and drug sniffing dogs.

“THIS IS AN ILLEGAL MASS GATHERING! EITHER DISPERSE OR BE ARRESTED!” One officer shouted into a bullhorn.

“This is bullshit,” Balthazar hissed at Dean. “These morons got their wires crossed somehow. Gabriel keeps everything on the up and up. Granted there’s always the possibility that some jackass has brought in illicit drugs...” his voice trailed off as the drug sniffing dogs zeroed in on a few of the revelers throughout the crowd.

“Fuck, I don’t need this headache,” Dean groaned as he white knuckled the bar. “Look, I think I’m going to head out with the rest of the crowd quietly following orders. I’ll talk to Gabe later about getting paid.”

The bartender gave him a curt nod and mumbled that he’d be staying. This wasn’t the first time some overzealous cops had tried to bust up one of Gabriel’s legal raves. But he completely understood Dean’s desire to go. It isn’t like the party would resume in a while and Dean would need to continue stripping.

On his way to the exit an officer locked eyes with him and motioned him over. “We could use your help with this buddy!” He shouted at Dean.

Dean attempted to ignore him but his noncompliance only drew more attention.

“Hey, hey, I’m talking to you,” a heavily armed officer yelled as he grabbed Dean by the shoulder and spun him around.

As the officer stared him down and inspected his cop uniform Dean was reminded of Sam’s warning from earlier in the week, “Good thing you weren't stopped by an actual cop. You could have been arrested for impersonating an officer in a getup like that. It's a little too authentic.”

“Hey, you’re not a cop!”

Dean was sunk. Of all the rotten luck this had to happen when Sam was in St Louis for the weekend with friends. If he was arrested, how the hell would he post bail? The rest of the night passed in a blur. He vaguely remembered being Mirandized and staring over his shoulder pleadingly at Gabriel and Balthazar while he was lead away in cuffs. Fuck his life. He was afraid to ask if anything more could go wrong. With his luck he’d be struck by lightning.


	7. Chapter 7

He should have gone straight to the police department when he’d gotten home from work. Sure Cas had decided to file a police report for his mugging, but he was dragging his feet. He really didn’t see the point of it. He’d escaped relatively unscathed with only the lose of a few bills from his wallet and his cards had been untouched. 

Instead he chose to head back to the Red Lion Pub; he rather liked their fish and chips and micro brew selection. He forced himself to do something, anything to keep his depression at bay. He’d noticed a flyer left behind by another patron for an 8 o’clock stage production at The Apollo Theater down the street from the pub. Cas knew nothing about the production but made up his mind on the spot to go after his meal. It had been awhile since he’d watched a show and while he prefered experiencing shows with a partner he wasn’t above going alone. Besides, if he waited until he had a date to do things and enjoy himself he could wait until hell froze over.

Cas sat at the bar and picked at his chips. His eyes landing on one table after another, observing all of the Pub’s patrons. There were loud boisterous groups celebrating various occasions, couples at tables intimately leaning in close to share some secret, and a smattering of singles at the bar all looking to make some sort of connection. He felt like he was somehow separate from the others, unnoticed and unseen. His knack for observation of his surroundings had served him well when it came to his sketches and art, but had left him unsure of how to interact.

So lost was he in his thoughts about a couple across the room and whether a charcoal sketch or watercolor would be better suited to convey the mood if he were to paint them, that Cas was unaware of the woman who had sat beside him until she actually started talking. Her attempt to chat him up was met with a slow turn of his head and owlish blink. He was slow to respond, unsure of her intentions. He answered her questions politely and made what would be considered small talk before she heaved herself off the barstool with a dejected expression and walked back to a group of girlfriends. He replayed the brief conversation in his mind and tried to figure out why the woman had reacted the way she did, when it dawned on him that she had been attempting to flirt with him. His people skills were most definitely rusty.

It was no surprise that he was alone in the city. His awkward introverted tendencies did him no favors when it came to dealing with people. Castiel had to consider that he would never meet anyone new or find so much as a friend, let alone someone to date if he didn’t find a way to better understand people. With a sigh he threw a few bills on the bar to cover his meal, gave a curt nod to the bartender and left the pub with a heavy sigh. Cas pushed his sorry thoughts aside. He still had a show to catch.

The revival of Annie Get Your Gun was quite entertaining and Cas found his spirits considerably lifted. With good spirits came determination, which is how he found himself at the North Lincoln police department offices at 11 o’clock at night on a Friday evening. It was late but he figured he was nearby so he might as well just get things over and done with. 

Cas stood at the desk sergeant’s desk attempting to explain what he needed to a rather bored and unimpressed officer. The precinct rapidly filled up as other officers ushered in large numbers of handcuffed people for booking. The desk sergeant gave Cas an apologetic look and asked him to have a seat until he could finish processing all of the people that had just been arrested. He sighed and found himself a seat in the waiting area. As he looked around the room he noticed a familiar looking officer.

“Officer Winchester! Officer Winchester!” 

All eyes in the room looked to Cas and then to the man he’d been calling. All of the color drained from Dean’s face as he tried to avoid the man’s gaze. This did not look good. It didn’t look good at all. The cops really would believe he was in the habit of impersonating officers. Now how was he going to explain his arrest as a simple misunderstanding? 

Cas sat back down and continued to surreptitiously look at Dean Winchester. Cas sensed that he had somehow done something terribly wrong. Why wouldn’t Dean acknowledge him. Were those handcuffs on his wrists? 

A middle aged woman with youthful, yet stern features, approached the desk and rapt the counter to get attention. She handed her business card to the desk sergeant and introduced herself, “Ellen Harvelle, I see Chicago’s finest is up to their same old tricks again. You all know Sugar Rush Productions does everything above board. Frankly Gabriel’s tired of your crusade and war on vice. I’ve got a call into Judge Singer already. He’s as irritated as both Gabriel and I am, so don’t reckon you’ll be keeping everyone you arrested over the weekend.”

“Whatever lady, just have a seat and wait for your new clients then. They’ll still take awhile to process.” 

Once the last of the people brought in had been booked Cas was quick to rush back to the desk sergeant.

“That man that was just brought in, the one in uniform. I know him. What happened?” Cas asked in a rush.

“He was arrested at a local rave party and charged with impersonating an officer, kept claiming it was all a mistake and a misunderstanding. I almost couldn’t get him to shut up long enough to process him. Now, if he hadn’t been in the habit of pretending to be a cop how would you know him as Officer Winchester?”

Cas stared at the officer at the desk in confusion. Something wasn’t adding up. His thoughts were interrupted by the cop reminding him, “Weren’t you here to file a police report?”

“Oh, yes. Last weekend I was mugged outside the Red Lion Pub.”

As Cas detailed the previous Saturday’s events he realized that Dean had never explicitly told him he was an officer. When Cas had first called him officer he had simply said to call him Dean before providing his full name. Hadn’t he mentioned that he had just gotten off of work? Cas automatically assumed that Dean was a cop, but wouldn’t his vehicle have been parked at the police station if he were?

Cas abruptly asked, “What was the misunderstanding Mr Winchester mentioned?”

“He said he was hired as a male stripper and that his ‘good cop, bad cop’ uniform was one of his most popular requests.”

It was all beginning to make sense and Cas began to form a plan.

“I think there really has been a misunderstanding. Does Mr. Winchester need bail?”

“Wait, one thing at a time. What about your police report.”

“Forget it I don’t need to file one after all. What I do need, is to know what Mr. Winchester’s bond is.”

With a shrug the officer accessed Dean’s intake report and found the information for Cas.

“Impersonating an officer is a Class 4 felony in the state of Illinois. He’s going to have to wait for a judge to set his bail. Usually that would mean he’d have to wait until Monday, but lucky for your friend the man he claims he was working for already had a lawyer waiting for this last group of arrests to come in. He must know some important people because he’s already got a judge awake and ready to set bail. If you really want to post for him I’ll let you know when he’s ready.”


	8. Chapter 8

Dean paced the holding cell he’d been placed in. The cell had two solid walls and two sides comprised of iron bars. It was a fairly decent size room with enough space to house him and nineteen other unfortunate souls that had been picked up in the raid. He absently wondered where all of the other people arrested with him had been housed, there certainly were more arrests made than those confined in this barred room. Regardless he was grateful they weren’t with him. His cell was plenty crowded as it was. There was one long bench along the rear cinderblock wall, currently packed with disgruntled party goers and a few drunk and disorderlies that had already been in the lock up when he had been processed. In the far rear corner of the cell stood a metal stool and urinal. Yeah, Dean figured he’d let his bladder burst before he subjected himself to the indignity of public urination.

He had to find a way out of this. When the booking officer informed him that his charges would mean he’d have to wait until Monday for a bail hearing he almost cried in frustration. There was no way he’d make it to the bachlorette party he had booked for Saturday night. He likely wouldn’t be paid for tonight’s gig and he’d have to find a way to make bail. To make matters worse there was no point in calling Sam or any of his friends to bother them if the cops weren’t going to let him out until Monday. And as if that wasn’t enough of a headache he had to be recognized by the guy he’d rescued the other night. Under different circumstances he would have been pretty pleased to see the guy, but the fact that the man called him Officer Winchester was the last thing he needed at the time. That one greeting pretty much sealed his fate.

He debated using his only phone call on the hostess for Saturday’s job to cancel. Dean hated the thought of losing the money but he knew he was going to have to let the lady know. At least he didn’t have to choose between calling her or Sam.

This couldn’t have happened to him at a worse time. The arrest was really going to set his savings back. His mind raced, contemplating his mounting expenses in the upcoming year until Sam left for Stanford. He had tried earlier in the week to formulate a savings plan but hadn’t had much success. Of course his current situation wasn’t conducive to clear thought either, but what else could he think about? Bail bonds and attorneys’ fees added to full rent, parking fees, tuition, and food: Dean thought he was going to break down and cry.

He glanced longingly at the crowded bench and continued walking from one end of the cell to the other. 

He was about to shout for the jailer so he could call and cancel Saturday night’s job when he remembered that it was now passed midnight. He clutched the bars and pressed his head to the cool metal. Crap he couldn’t even make a phone call to keep himself occupied. If he had any hope of being hired again by this client it would be crushed with an early morning call. It would have to wait until morning.

When Dean had finally decided to sit down on the floor against the wall and settle in for the night an officer approached the cell and shouted, “Winchester! You’ve made bail.”

Dean threw the cop a questioning look and pushed himself up off the cold floor as the cell door was opened.

“Hey, don’t ask me,” the officer answered with a shrug. “They say let you go, I let you go.”

After he signed the appropriate paperwork with his upcoming court date Dean collected his things and headed for the lobby. At least he had had his tip money returned to him with the rest of his personal effects. The cash he’d taken in from his dancing at the rave was a small consolation to the income he’d lost when he was arrested, but it was better than nothing. When he turned from the counter back towards the waiting area he noticed the man he’d rescued talking to a woman with a brief case. 

He strode towards them and forced himself to remember the man’s name. 

“Cas isn’t it? So you realize I’m not a cop right?” Dean growled, feeling an unnecessary surge of anger. “Thanks for helping me out back there!”

Cas looked stunned at the unexpected anger roiling off of Dean. 

“Actually,” Ellen intervened, “Mr. Novak gave you quite a bit of assistance this evening. So don’t you go sassing him.”

“Who the hell are you lady?” Dean barked, turning his anger on Ellen.

Ellen squared her shoulders and although she was significantly shorter than Dean she looked fiercely intimidating.

“I’m the lawyer that Mr. Lokison hired to represent you. I’m the reason a judge set your bail without you having to wait until Monday. And Mr. Novak is the reason you didn’t have to post bail yourself.”

Dean looked shocked at the two of them his mouth gaping like a fish.

“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t know,” Dean said looking sufficiently chastised. “Uh, thank you?”

Ellen rolled her eyes. “Here,” she said, shoving an envelope along with her business card at Dean. “Gabriel asked me to give this to you. Your payment for the evening,” she added when Dean gave her a puzzled look.

“Come see me on Monday. I’ve done my good deed for the night. If you have any questions before then ask Mr. Novak.” Her voice trailed off as she left the police station.

Dean turned to Cas. 

“So, you care to tell me what’s going on?”

Cas appeared nervous.

“Do you mind if we stop someplace for coffee and I can fill you in?”

“Sure, you did me a favor. And it isn’t like I don’t have a ton of questions.”

“There aren’t many places this time of night that are open. The Golden Apple is open 24 hours but we’ll have to take a cab. It’s too far to walk,”

“Works for me. Lead the way.”

Because of the early morning hour the chances of hailing a cab were slim to none. Cas, having recalled that his attempt to attract a cab the week before had resulted in his being mugged, opted to phone a cab company ahead of time and arranged for one to pick them up at the station.The two of them waited outside the entrance of the precinct for their ride to arrive.

As they climbed into the cab that had just stopped to pick them up Cas told the driver where they were headed, then turned to Dean and said, “The answer is yes by the way.”

Dean glanced at Cas’ profile, illuminated intermittently by the street lights as their cab gently swayed.

“What?”

“I know now that you’re not a cop. Sorry if I caused any problem back there.”

“Well, it isn't like you really had any way of knowing. Don't worry about it. It would be kind of a dick move on my part to hold it against you since you bailed me out,” Dean chuckled, bumping Cas’ shoulder with his own. 

“You did me a favor the other night and this gave me a chance to express my thanks.”

Dean grew quiet as they reached their destination. He had to think on what Cas had told him for a bit.

“That's an expensive thank you card,” Dean huffed. He opened the cab door and waited for Cas to exit before continuing. “Pretty excessive don't you think?”

“Not when you consider the economic impact of identity theft. Had the men who mugged me gotten more than just my paper money the last week would have been considerably more harrowing.”Cas paused in his response as he waited for Dean to follow him over the threshold of the Golden Apple.


	9. Chapter 9

The restaurant had a warm atmosphere with a dining area that was long and narrow. Booths lined one wall and tables were arranged closer to the building’s windows. There was even a lunch counter with a row of cushioned stools for individuals who dined alone or who cared to chat with the wait staff. The lighting was warm and welcoming unlike the harsh florescent lighting used in most of the diners that Dean had come to know in his youth. He was surprised that he hadn’t been to the Golden Apple before and was glad that Cas had suggested it.

A hostess asked whether they wanted a booth or table and after hearing their response directed them to a booth toward the back of the room.

“Does this place have pie? I really could use a piece of pie after the night I've had, that or a stiff drink.” Dean asked Cas.

“Yes, they have pie. You're out of luck on the alcohol though. This place is a little too family oriented for the hard stuff.”

“You'd think a place open at this god forsaken hour though would have at least some liquor.” Dean groused as he slid into the booth the hostess had shepherded them to.

“What non-alcoholic beverages can I interest you gentlemen in?”

Dean looked up into the smirking face of their server. Embarrassed he replied, “I really don't have a drinking problem. It's been a rough night. I’ll have a coffee. How about you Cas?”

“I'll have the same. And could you tell us what pies you have available?”

Dean gave Cas a grateful look.

“I figured since you couldn't have any alcohol I could at least make sure you can get some pie,” he teased.

The waitress listed the pies available, “We've got apple, dutch apple crumble, boysenberry, cherry, and pecan.”

“You've got both boysenberry and pecan? Crap. Now I've got to choose between the two. It's like frikken Sophie’s Choice. I guess I'll have the pecan. Can I get that a la mode?”

Cas laughed to himself at Dean's childlike disappointment.

“Sure hon, and what about you sweetie?”

With a smile in his eyes Cas said, “I'll have the boysenberry, also a la mode.”

“Alright then, I'll be back in a bit with your order.”

Once the waitress had gone, Cas looked deeply into Dean's eyes, “So, do you want to share what happened tonight?” He had become aware that he felt no hesitation in asking the man across from him the question. Odd, when he considered how often he felt awkward when dealing with new people.

Dean's shoulders slumped, propped his elbows on the table and dragged his hands down his face. “I don't even knew where to start.”

“How about you start with what you do for a living since you're apparently not one of Chicago's finest,” he said with a kind smile.

The waitress returned with their coffee and pie as Dean told Cas about how he stumbled upon stripping as a means to pay his way through college.

“It's not as bad as it sounds. Doing private gigs like bachelorette and surprise parties is a lot more lucrative than working at a strip club, a lot more respectable too.”

“So you were working a job when you were arrested?”

“Yeah, luckily I was in between routines when the raid started otherwise I would have been in nothing but a speedo.”

Cas sputtered into his coffee, distracted by the thought of Dean sans clothes. “Well, I suppose. Perhaps you wouldn't have been arrested if you weren't in uniform.”

“That's probably true, but the uniform has come in handy. It helped get you out of trouble the other night didn't it?”

“I really am sorry about the confusion by the way, I feel like I made it worse for you back at the station.”

“Things would have worked out anyway since Gabe had sent that lawyer to help me out. I don't know what I would have done if I'd been stuck in jail over the weekend. Sorry for yelling at you earlier. You saved me from having to come up with the bail money by the way. I'll have to pay you back.”

“You don't have to do that Dean. I was happy to help out,” Cas said waving him off.

“I can't let you do that Cas, even after I have my court date you'll still be out a small percentage and the bond fees.”

“You don't plan on skipping town do you?”

“Of course not!” Dean looked taken aback. “I've got my brother depending on me for rent money and classes to take at DePaul. I'm not throwing that away on some bullshit charge.”

“Then there's nothing to worry about. I paid your bail with a check. They'll refund all of the bail once you appear in court.”

“Are you serious? You don't even know me from Adam.”

“I know you're a person who would help a stranger in need. That's all I need to know.”

Dean shook his head and took another bite of his pie.

“You're really something Cas. So last I saw you you'd said you moved here from Peoria.”

“Um, yes,” Cas said nervously as he wiped some boysenberry filling off his lips. “I'm surprised you remembered that.”

Dean responded sheepishly, “If I'm being honest I regretted not asking for your number the other night. But I was afraid any interest you had was because you were drunk and wouldn't remember me anyway. It isn't every night a good looking guy asks me to cuff him.”

Cas looked panicked and wide-eyed. “I said what?!”

Dean threw his head back and laughed. “Something to the effect of not minding if you were frisked and cuffed.”

Cas pushed his pie away, groaned, and banged his head on the table, “This is so embarrassing.”

“Aw come on Cas, don't be like that. I'm just messing with you,” Dean reached across to pat his arm and calm him.

“Oh thank god, I can't imagine saying that!”

“Nah, you still said it. I'm just glad I made an impression. So, would you mind giving me your number since you appeared interested enough to post my bail?”

“Sure let me find a pen and paper”

Dean flagged down the waitress. “Excuse me darlin’ could I borrow a pen for my friend here. He needs to write something important down for me. He'll need another napkin too,” he said nodding at the boysenberry stained one by Cas’ plate with a wink.

Cas slid his plate across to Dean, “Here, why don't you finish this for me while I write my info down for you.”

“Sweet! The best of both worlds. Now I've got boysenberry and pecan. You're the best!”

Cas wrote down his phone number and address, a habit he'd picked up somewhere. He always gave more information than necessary. Before he could think to much about it Dean reached over and plucked the napkin from his hand. He raised both eyebrows, gave Cas a cheeky smile, and started entering the information into his phone contacts.

“I suppose it would have made more sense if I had just told you my number so you could have entered it into your phone in the first place,” Cas muttered looking somewhat abashed.

Cas heard a ping and felt his phone vibrate. He dug in his coat pocket, retrieved his phone, and looked at the text message Dean had sent. He smiled. Dean had provided his address too.

“I guess you're not put off that I gave you my address.”

Dean barked a laugh, “You've already given it to me once before. I figured you really wanted me to have it since you're sober this time.”

“Yeah well next time you drop me off maybe you can come up.”

“Come on Cas let's get out of here,” Dean said as he rose from the table and began digging in his wallet.

“Oh no let me get this,” Cas protested.

“Nope, I got it. This night has ended a lot better than it started thanks to you. I'll get this and you can pick up the tab the next time.”

“Next time?”

“Of course Dean,” chuckled. “I'd like the next time we hang out to be under much better circumstances.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

They shared a cab back to Dean's place. Before the cab continued to Cas’ home Dean ducked his head through the open door and said, “I'll call you later. I've got a job tomorrow night - scratch that,’’ Dean said glancing at his watch. “Make that tonight, so if I don't get in contact, you call me okay?”

Cas nodded his assent as the cab pulled away from the curb.

He smiled to himself. Thanks to two chance encounters he just might have found someone to occasionally do things with around the city. Maybe life in Chicago wouldn't be so bad after all.


	10. Chapter 10

Castiel’s mood had improved notably come Monday. He was more animated in his dealings with his co-workers than he had been in recent weeks. During a coffee break in the employee lunchroom he actually engaged in conversations with people in his department besides Crowley. A few of his office mates actually took notice and mentioned their surprise that he had even spoken to them. He had no idea how bad his funk had become until someone pointed it out. The possibility of having a friend outside of work had had an incredible effect on his spirits. Crowley, having heard the murmurings throughout the office of Castiel’s out of character interactions, checked in on him to comment on his increased productivity and mood.

“Well, someone’s in better spirits,” Crowley chuffed as he eased himself into a chair in Castiel’s office, casually resting his right foot on one knee.

“I haven’t had to nag you once about your files today. Meg and Nick were taking guesses on whether or not you saw some action this weekend since you seem to have relaxed and removed the stick that was stuck up your ass. Nick’s words mind you, not mine,” he said holding his hands up in a defensive gesture.

Cas squinted at his colleague, puzzled.

“Oh, come on Castiel! You can’t honestly tell me that you weren’t aware that our office mates have not known you to be anything but serious and borderline disgruntled.”

Crowley’s observation was answered with a shrug of Cas’ shoulders. “I haven’t felt very social lately, and my people skills are rusty. It isn’t exactly a crime, is it?”

“Ah, mate,” Crowley answered with a quirk of his eyebrow and knowing nod of his head, “It isn’t, but you’re decidedly less prickly than you usually are. Why the change in demeanor? An, eventful weekend maybe?”

Cas wasn’t always the most observant individual when it came to communication. It took a few minutes, but the pieces eventually clicked into place. He couldn’t quite conceive of why his office mates had been reacting to him differently until Crowley had elluded to his weekend. Had he been so starved for companionship outside of work that it had colored everything about him? He supposed he had.

“I went down to the Lincoln Park precinct to file that police report.”

His colleague impatiently looked on, “And...?”

“Well, you’d insisted on Friday that I get my ass in gear and sort things out because my work was suffering.”

“And filing a police report miraculously lifted your mood and work ethic?” Crowley asked skeptically. 

Cas guffawed, “No of course not. Don’t be absurd.”

“Well, go on then.”

Cas leaned back in his chair and gathered his thoughts. He wondered what would be the best way to approach the subject without risking more harassment from his colleague. But, as he was dealing with Crowley, he figured there was no way around it.

“I didn’t file the report after all.” Cas held up his hand as Crowley started to speak. “I ran into the man who helped me last week.”

“Ah, so you found your corroborating witness then. Why didn’t you file the report?”

“He wasn’t a cop.”

“So?”

“He wasn’t a cop. Apparently I had been rescued by an exotic dancer on his way home from a bridal shower,” Cas chuckled as he filled Crowley in on the details, conveniently leaving out the part about Dean having been arrested.

Crowley, however, had sensed that Cas was holding out on him and had left some key information from his story. He found a loose thread and proceeded to pick at it.

“Hold up, you mean to tell me you met this non-cop exotic dancer at the police station?” he asked and fixed Castiel with a shrewd stare.

“Well, yes.” Cas said while attempting to suppress the coloring of his cheeks. “To be honest I was so surprised with running into Dean that I forgot all about filling out the police paperwork. All the attackers got was cash, I hadn’t suffered any serious injury, and I couldn’t honestly remember any details that would be of any use to the police in apprehending the assailants.”

““Dean? On a first name basis now? And how did this Dean happen to be at the precinct at the same time you were Castiel… since he wasn’t an actual officer?” he questioned, further pulling at the proverbial thread.

Castiel’s mouth opened and closed a few times while he scrabbled for an explanation, all while the man sitting at his desk continued to watch Cas like a cat observing a mouse. Crowley toyed with him, watched his hesitation and discomfort, and obviously enjoyed it.

Cas sighed and filled Crowley in and the man crowed with delight at his friend’s discomfort.

“Oh, that’s rich! What are the odds that straight-laced Castiel hooks up with a convict?”

“He isn’t a convict Crowley,” Castiel groused. “It was merely a case of mistaken identity.”

“You seem fairly confident considering you don’t even know the man.”

“We went out for coffee, talked and got to know each other a bit. It was a pleasant evening and I'd be lying to you if I said I wasn't happy to have run into him. After my attack last week I'd wished I had gotten his number so I could properly thank him for his assistance.”

“I knew it!” Crowley exclaimed. “I knew something was on your mind all last week. You were mooning over your attractive savior. Who knew you were the type to pine like a schoolgirl?”

Cas threw Crowley an annoyed look that he simply ignored.

“Well I’m glad that’s settled then. As it makes you more hospitable around the office you have my full support.”

Crowley stood and excused himself from Cas’ office. He shouted over his shoulder on his way out the door, “Get out there Cas, have some fun. Don’t cock it up! If an active social life is key to you performing better at work, I’m all for it.”

Cas shook his head in consternation at Crowley’s retreating form and returned to the open portfolio on his desk. He paused for a moment and considered what his colleague had said. Ridicule aside, his colleague still had a point. Maybe he'd give Dean a call later in the evening when he got off of work.


	11. Chapter 11

Monday brought with it another lunch with Sam at Banko’s. Dean grabbed a corner booth and reviewed the info given to him by Ellen Harvelle, Gabriel’s attorney, while he waited for Sam to join him. He entered her office address into google maps on his phone to find where he needed to go after lunch. The card had sat in his jacket pocket ignored until right before class. It was an easy thing to forget considering the sorry amount of sleep he had had over the last few days. He stared at his screen and thought about the past weekend.

After leaving Cas early Saturday morning he immediately climbed the stairs to his apartment and made a beeline for his bed. He slept fitfully throughout the day, his sleep hindered by the anxiety of his tumultuous evening. Being arrested did nothing to help his nerves even if he’d been fortunate enough to have been bailed out. Dean eventually gave up trying to sleep around midday and dragged himself to the kitchen to find something to eat. 

He sat glaring into a bowl of Mini Wheats. Why did Sam insist on buying that crap? If he hadn’t run out of his own frosted flakes he never would have stooped to eating Sam’s cereal in the first place. It was par for the course though, considering all the shit that had happened since finding out that he was going to end up living alone on the world’s tightest budget. Every penny was now going to count so a run to the store was out of the question. Better make due with what he had on hand . It wasn’t like it was a new and novel experience anyway.

Dean got up and quickly washed and rinsed his dirty cereal bowl. After placing the dishes in the dish rack to dry he reached into the kitchen junk drawer and fished out a pen and paper. He had to sit down and make a concrete plan. He’d partially done so shortly after Sam had mentioned his pending move to Stanford but panic and scheduled classes had prevented him from going into too much detail. Now was the time since he couldn’t sleep and couldn’t risk falling asleep and missing the evening’s gig at another bachelorette party. At least tonight he would be dressed as a fireman. He didn’t think he would be able to handle wearing his cop uniform for a while after last night’s arrest. Dean wasn’t superstitious, but man, that thing seemed to bring some crappy luck.

Well, not entirely bad luck if he was being completely honest. He did run into Castiel again. That had to count for something. He’d have to remember to give the guy a call later when he was a little more rested. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and told himself there would be time enough to think about the accountant later.

Dean looked at the figures on his paper and wondered for the hundredth time in a matter of days how he was going to make it all work. His trial run at Gabriel’s rave had been a wash. It had the potential to earn a substantial amount of money on a steady basis but the raid and his arrest had put a damper on that line of thought. He sighed and ran his fingers through his spiky hair. He had really hoped that would have worked out. It’s a lot easier to count on a regular base salary and factor in tips than to have to worry about booking his own individual gigs. What was he going to do if he had a dry spell?

Inevitably there would be times when he would go without bookings and really have to budget. The flip side of that were the times when everyone wanted to book him and there wasn’t enough time slots to go around. He was only one man after all. It didn’t matter how desirable his services were. He could only strip for so many people a week and still keep up with his studies.

Well he didn’t have many options at the moment. He’d just have to soldier on. With an exasperated huff he tossed the notepad and pen back into the junk drawer and marched off to take a shower. He needed to start getting ready for his next job. As he climbed into a steaming shower he tried to concentrate on making a plan. Keep your head in the game Winchester.

Sam slid into the booth across from his brother and interrupted his silent revelry. He waved his hand in front of Dean’s face.

“Hey, yo, Dean… Dean!”

Dean jolted to attention. 

“Dude, where were you just now? I’ve been trying to get your attention for a few minutes.”

“Oh, I was just thinking about something. How’d your trip go Sammy?” Dean asked as he moved to put his phone, the screen having gone dark, back in his pocket. 

Sam gave his brother a puzzled look. “Are you sure you’re alright? You look like you’re really bothered by something.”

Just then his eyes landed on Ellen’s business card that Dean had left on the table. His expression turned from puzzled to alarmed.

“Why do you have an attorney’s business card? What the hell happened while I was gone?”

Dean’s shoulders slumped and he let out a shuddering breath. He was about to fill Sam in on the weekend’s events when their waiter stepped up to the booth.   
“Why don’t we order first and I’ll let you know what’s going on. Sound good?” Dean rushed out before the waiter began talking. Sam gave him a look conveying that Dean better have every intention of filling him in.

“Hey, guys, I see your other half made it! What would you like to drink he said turning to Sam?”

“Uh, I’ll just have a water with lemon, thank you.”

“How about you buddy,” he said turning back to Dean. “You need a refill on that Coke?”

Dean nodded his assent. “Sure man”

“You two want your usual?” 

Dean laughed, “of course dude! How long have we been coming here?”

“Alright, alright,” the waiter said with a chuckle. “I hear ya. But you never know. One of these days you two might surprise me.”

With that the waiter turned on his heel and head to the kitchen to place their order and get their drinks.

Sam wasted no time in grilling Dean. He dropped the cheerful facade he’d adopted for the waiter and leaned, forearms on the table, in toward his brother. 

“Ellen Harvelle is a prominent defense attorney,” he hissed. “What the hell happened when I was out of town?”

Dean, never one to let on how much he was freaking out to his brother, let Sam know the situation with a somewhat cavalier, no big deal air. Sam wasn’t buying it.

“Oh man, arrested because of the uniform? I hate to say it-”

“Then don’t say it Sammy!” Dean growled before he could calm himself.

He let out a long sigh and attempted to steady himself. He figured it was better to reassure his little brother than burden him with his own concerns. Nothing good could come from the worry anyway. Dean assumed a confident air and told Sam about how Gabriel had taken care of the situation and provided him with access to a lawyer in the first place.

“Yeah, but Dean, you can’t afford Harvelle’s rates. How are you gonna come up with the money for that?”

He blanched at the thought. Eyes gone wide he whispered, “oh god, I hadn’t thought of that.” All the while the voice in his head reminded him Keep it together, keep it together, you got this, in an effort to stave off his inevitable nervous breakdown.

“You’re not helping Sam.”

His brother continued “And how did you make bail in the first place?”

Despite his worries about more expenses Dean was happy for the question. This was something he could answer. This was something that had been taken care of, even if it was still a matter beyond his control and had only been covered by a sheer stroke of luck.

“Remember the guy I helped last week, the one that got mugged?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything - “

“Would you shut up Sam. I’m trying to answer your question.”

Sam closed his mouth with a look of frustration, but leaned back and waited for Dean to continue. He gawped at Dean in surprise as his brother gave him the run down of the time after he’d been arrested.

“Of all the dumb luck!” said Sam shaking his head in disbelief. “So the uniform also helped in some way too.”

The waiter chose that time to approach their booth with their lunches. Dean was silently grateful. He needed the distraction from all of Sam’s questions. The two of them ate their meals in silence as each mulled over their conversation. Dean was the one to speak first.

“Anyway, I have an appointment with Gabe’s attorney after this so I’ll have more information when I see you later on tonight okay?” Dean said as he threw some bills on the table and moved to slide out of their booth.

Sam sat looking uncertain and worried at his brother.

“Come on cheer up Sammy. Everything’s gonna work out. You’ll see,” Dean soothed with a gentle pat and squeeze of Sam’s shoulder before he headed out of the restaurant. As he made his way to his legal appointment he only hoped that he could convince himself of what he was saying.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean didn’t consider himself a particularly lucky man, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. His meeting with Ellen Harvelle had been better than he could have ever hoped for. Gabriel kept her on retainer and legal defense for anyone in his employ or arrested due to Gabe’s business activities, was covered free of charge, with Gabe picking up the tab. The situation certainly made him feel better about contracting with Sugar Rush Productions.

In fact Gabriel had actually met him at Harvelle’s law firm to discuss matters with Dean himself, to see about possibly salvaging their business relationship. It appeared that despite the bullshit raid and subsequent legal troubles Gabe was quite pleased with their business arrangement. The question was whether Dean felt comfortable with it. He’d felt several misgivings during the actual event and wasn’t sure if he would be able to shake them.

He informed Gabe that he would have to put some thought into it and would get back with him later in the week. The promoter seemed to take it in stride and told Dean to take his time.

“No problem Deano. Just keep me in the loop. I’m sure we can make this work for everyone involved. That police raid was definitely not the norm. I can assure you.”

As Dean headed back to his apartment he only hoped that what Gabriel was saying was true. He could use a lucky break, and the steady regular employment that Sugar Rush could provide would really help his situation. He didn’t want to hold his brother back, but he didn’t want to end up out on the streets either.

The ringer had been turned off on Dean’s phone while he had met with his lawyer. He had forgotten to turn it back on and was surprised later that evening when he saw a message notification flash across the screen from a number he didn’t recognize. 

It read, “How’d it go at the lawyer’s?”

Dean stared at the screen puzzled for a moment . He hadn’t told anyone about his legal appointment except for Sam. Then it hit him. He’d completely forgotten to call Castiel over the weekend having been so stressed over his situation, preoccupied with trying to rest in addition to trying to budget, and failing.

He kind of felt like an ass. Cas had helped him out of an incredibly tight spot and he’d forgotten to call and thank him.

He flopped down on the sofa to respond to the message, prepared to text back and then figured the guy at the very least deserved a call instead. He hadn’t even programmed Cas’ information into his contacts yet. Dean decided to enter the info into his contacts before he forgot that too.

He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt while he listened to the phone ring. Why the hell was he nervous?

“Hello,” a gruff voice answered.

“Uh, hiya Cas,” Dean sputtered, caught off guard by the answering voice. He continued before his nervousness could get the best of him, “Sorry, I haven’t called sooner”

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s me,” Dean exhaled, not realising he had been holding his breath.

“It’s good to hear from you. I was worried about how your appointment with the lawyer had gone. You’d told me to call you if I hadn’t heard from you.”

“Oh, yeah sorry about that. I didn’t mean to put you off, the weekend was really busy.”

“No worries. So, care to fill me in?”

Dean gave Cas the run down before he realised he hadn’t even shared the information with Sammy. He felt guilt for a matter of seconds, but then reminded himself that it didn’t really matter. Besides, it isn’t like the guy who posted his bail didn’t have a right to know, plus he was enjoying the conversation.

While Dean was deep in his conversation Sam walked by on his way to the kitchen.

“Hey, is that Charlie?”

Dean gave his brother an irritated glance at being interrupted. He uttered into the phone, “Wait what’s that? Hold on, give me a sec.”

Directing his full attention to his brother he answered, “No it’s not Charlie.”

Before he could return to his conversation, Sam asked, “Well then, who is it?”

At this point Dean was beginning to look downright hostile, “Dude, what’s it to you? I’m on the phone!”

Cas interjected over the phone, “It sounds like this isn’t a good time, I could call back”

“Wait, you don’t need to do that …” But by that time Cas had already hung up.

Dean looked up from his phone and glared at his brother. “What’s the matter with you? What was so important that it couldn’t wait?”

Sam for his part looked apologetic. “Sorry man I hadn’t heard you come home and there you were talking to someone on the phone. I just wanted to know what was up. I figured maybe you were talking to a friend about what happened today and you hadn’t even spoken to me yet.”

Apparently Dean’s guilt at not talking to Sam hadn’t been misplaced. “Sorry Sam I got a message from Cas asking about what happened before I had a chance to talk to you.”

“Cas? Who’s Cas?” Sam questioned and sat down on the coffee table across from his brother.

Dean realised then that he hadn’t gone into much detail about how he had made bail . He tossed his phone aside and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands dangling below to address Sam. No time like the present to fill him in on the situation.

“So let me get this straight, the person on the phone was the person who helped you make bail. And that person is one and the same with the drunk guy you rescued last week?”

“Yup,” Dean said with a popping sound for emphasis.

Dean continued to share with his brother how he had spent some time with Castiel after being released from jail and exchanged numbers. He even disclosed that they’d agreed to meet up at some future date to just hang out. 

“He does know that you’ve got about zero time for a social life does he? Between work and school you’re booked solid.”

“Thanks for the reminder Captain Obvious,” Dean groused. “Look it really doesn’t matter does it? The guy posted my bail. He at least deserves to be kept in the loop about my legal bullshit since he stepped up to the plate and helped me out. The fact that I’ve got to work my ass off to save up for when you split for Stanford doesn’t need to be his problem too.”

A pained expression flitted across Sam’s face.

Dean sighed, “Look Sammy, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just still a little worried about how this is all going to play out. Don’t let that get in the way of your law degree though. Things will work themselves out, you’ll see.” 

Locking eyes with his little brother he said, “Come on, grab your jacket, we’ll shoot some pool have some beers and I’ll fill you in on what happened with the lawyer.”

“Don’t you have coursework to do?”

“Yeah, but it can wait a few hours for my little brother. Let’s get out of here.”

As they headed out of their appartment Dean thought about calling Cas back. He figured it could wait. He had a little brother to sooth and some job prospects to mull over.


	13. Chapter 13

The following day Dean sat in Charlie’s computer lab on campus, working on a paper. He remembered that he still needed to return Cas’ call. The man had said he’d call back but it only seemed right that Dean got in contact with him considering how abruptly their previous conversation had ended. He stared blankly at his phone debating whether he should text or call. 

“You remember you gotta go outside if you’re going to call someone right?” Charlie Asked, appearing at his shoulder as if out of thin air.

Dean dropped his phone with a start and clutched at his chest, “Christ, Charlie! You scared the shit out of me. How many times do I have to tell you not to sneak up on me like that?”

His outburst was met with the sound of several students shushing him.

While Dean pushed back his chair and reached down between his feet to retrieve his phone, Charlie smiled at his embarrassment. “What can I say, I’m Stealth Elf.”

Dean met her response with a glare.

“Besides, you’re the one who gave me the name, gotta live up to expectations,” was her cheeky response.

She pulled out a chair at the empty computer terminal next to him. “So, what’s going on?”

“My life is nuts as always. I’m just needing to call someone I met this weekend. Guess I better get going and take care of this. I’m not going to get much done until I get this out of the way.”

“Or you could just text them and wait for a response.”

Dean shrugged. He supposed that would work. Cas was probably busy with his job at this time of day anyway. He quickly tapped out a message to Cas apologizing for Sam’s interruption the previous night and slid his phone back into his pocket.

“Who are you messaging anyway? Can’t be Sam. You wouldn’t look so nervous if it was.”

“Just some guy from this weekend,” Dean responded trying to play it off like it was no big deal.

Unfortunately, Charlie, being Charlie was going to ferret out any information she could. “Just some guy? You worked that big rave this weekend didn’t you? Oh, wait! Did you meet him there? Is he hot?”

“Woah, woah, slow down there Red. Yes, it was just some guy, nothing special or exciting.”

Dean of course was lying to himself as well as Charlie. He continued, “Yes, I worked the rave this weekend. No I did not met him there. I met him the weekend before. And not that it’s any of your business, but he is easy on the eyes.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“There’s a lot I don’t tell you,” Dean said with a wry smile.

“Come on Winchester, my life is boring. Give me some deets,” Charlie urged vibrating in her seat.

With a roll of his eyes Dean shared his weekends events for the third time in so many days. By the time he had finished Charlie sat with her mouth agape in surprised silence. Dean reached over and pushed up on her chin to close her mouth.

“Shut your mouth Charlie. You trying to catch flies?”

Slowly shaking her head Charlie let out a low whistle.

“Anyone ever tell you your life is like a Dungeons and Dragons campaign? You certainly rolled a twenty to save when you were arrested. Bailed out, a coffee date with your rescuer, and possible stable employment with the company you were working for when you got picked up by the police? I couldn’t write this stuff!”

“Yeah well, I haven’t decided on Gabriel’s offer yet.”

Charlie grabbed Dean by the shoulders and shook him. 

“Are you insane? You’ve practically been handed the answer to all of your problems and you aren’t sure?”

“It’s just -” Dean attempted to speak.

“Just what?” Charlie questioned her excited voice increasing in volume. 

Another chorus of angry shushes sounded through the room. The lab attendant ducked her head and blushed. She gave an apologetic finger wave and tip of her head towards the group of angry and frazzled students working on their various assignments.

She turning back to Dean and hissed, “Just what Winchester? Would you rather face the prospects of living in a slum or having multiple roommates once Sam leaves? Use your head man! You have to strike while the iron is hot. Take this opportunity before it slips away.”

Dean knew Charlie was right. Even though he had been apprehensive of Gabriel’s business model when confronted by the police, he knew the business was legit and as long as he kept his nose clean it would most likely be the best employment prospect he would get. Friday nights working for Gabe and one or two stripping telegrams or bachelorette parties each week could have him sitting pretty in no time. Add in tips and he’d be able to handle himself once Sam moved away. He had to concede her point.

Before Dean could answer his friend his phone buzzed in his pocket. His eyebrows shot up when he fished it out and saw that he had a return text from Cas.

“I gotta answer this,” Dean said holding up his finger to Charlie.

She smiled bemusedly at him, “Let me guess, your knight in shining armor?”

“Ah shut it Charlie,” Dean muttered as he gathered up his things and made his way out of the lab. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Have fun storming the castle!,” Charlie called after him. 

The crowd of students in the computer lab once again raised their faces from their screens and shushed the lab attendant.

“Oops. Sorry,” Charlie shrugged as she returned to her desk near the head of the room.

Cas had spent the rest of his evening debating whether he should call Dean back as promised or let it go. He sounded like there was someone else that he was busy with so he decided to just wait it out. Dean had told him the other day when their shared cab had dropped him at his apartment that he would call. Cas had called first. This time he’d wait for Dean. He didn’t want to appear too earnest. Truth be known though, he really wanted someone to talk to. He’d hoped that he would be able to see Dean again sometime soon.

The following day at work Cas kept looking at his phone. He needed something to distract him and work wasn’t sufficient to do it. His files were mostly in order and he had a little more free time in the office than usual. The tablet and pencils he kept in his drawer would be just the thing to keep him occupied. He could sketch at his desk without leaving his office. No one could accuse him of slacking off if he had his files done and was still there to field clients’ calls.

It had been awhile since he’d felt the inspiration to work on his art. As he began scratching rough lines on his tablet he was relieved to find that drawing still had the soothing effect on him that it always had. He had genuinely been worried that he would lose his skills and was afraid that his art, having been abandoned for so long, would feel like a chore he had to force himself to do. Cas grinned to himself as his drawing began to take shape. He sketched throughout the morning surprisingly uninterrupted. His deep concentration was disturbed when his phone buzzed on his desk.

Cas paused in his drawing to consider checking to see who had messaged but figured it was probably his mother looking for her weekly update of his professional success. He frowned and the thought of talking to his mother almost crushed his creative drive. He opted to ignore the message and proceed with his artwork. He hadn’t made time to work on his skills for a long time and was loath to stop once he’d finally decided to start again. Of course he still had to work but as long as the slow day allowed it, he was going to take advantage of the time he had.

About a half an hour or so later he needed to get up and stretch his legs, maybe walk around the office, and grab a drink. He grabbed his phone before heading towards the employee break room. While he leaned against the counter waiting for a fresh pot of coffee to brew he decided to check his messages and was surprised to find that the call he had previously ignored was from Dean Winchester, not his mother.


	14. Chapter 14

‘Hey Cas, Sorry about last night my brother showed up and started to ask questions about what happened with my lawyer. Text me back?’

After pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee he sat down at a table and sent Dean a message.

‘Hello Dean’ Cas pressed send and wondered if he should type something else.

Before he had too much time to ponder what to write his phone rang.

“Hi Cas, this isn’t a bad time is it?” Dean cautiously asked. He knew the man had an office job and didn’t want to interrupt anything important.

“Dean! No, not at all. I was just taking a coffee break,” Cas answered. Was that excitement Dean heard in his voice?

Dean decided to interpret it that way and took it as a good sign. “So, I was wondering if you wanted to get together for lunch sometime.”

Cas grinned as he considered his answer. Lunch dates were good; definitely a sign of more interest than getting together for a cup of coffee, but not as serious as dinner date. He looked at his watch and found it was actually quite close to lunchtime. Would it appear too eager if he offered to meet Dean today? Possibly, but he figured he might as well go for it. He wasn’t bogged down with files and could probably take the whole afternoon off if he wanted.

“I haven’t taken a lunch break yet, would you like to meet up today? I could meet you someplace,” Cas suggested.  
“Uh,” Dean hesitated. “I’d like to, but I don’t know how close I am to where you work.”

Cas made a snap decision. “I can meet you. I’m planning on leaving the office early today anyway.” 

He glanced towards the break room door only to find Crowley standing there with Cas’ sketch pad in his hands. The man nodded at Cas and gently waved the pad in his hands to get his attention.

“Look Dean, can I call you back in just a few minutes and we’ll hammer out the details?” Cas abruptly ended his call before Dean could respond.

Crowley approached Cas’ seat and leaned on the table next to him. 

“Talking to your new friend again Castiel? I stopped by your office to check on you, you’ve been quiet all morning, and found this,” He said as he handed the pad to his colleague. “I had no idea you had such talent. Who’s the portrait of anyway?”

Castiel felt a rush of heat to his face. He didn’t often share his artwork and was more than slightly embarrassed that Crowley had come across the picture he had been sketching of Dean. He hadn’t intended to use Dean as a subject, but it just had come to mind. Once the creative muse had taken ahold of him he couldn’t stop. The portrait had started taking shape before he was even aware of what he was doing.

Crowley quickly took notice of Cas’ discomfort and said with a sly grin, “Hold up a moment. This isn’t by any chance a drawing of this Dean you’ve mentioned is it?” 

Another flush colored Cas’ cheeks. He blew out a puff of air, squared his shoulders and lifted his eyes to face his officemate. Might as well get the ribbing over and done with.

“Yes that’s a pencil sketch of Dean Winchester,” Cas almost growled defensively.

“You certainly do have it bad. Well, if your drawing skills do any justice to his actual visage I can understand your fascination. You did say he was an exotic dancer didn’t you? No wonder you’re so eager to take the rest of the day off,” Crowley said in a jovial tone.

“That won’t be a problem will it? Did you need anything?” Castiel asked.

“No. I was only looking to see if you wanted to step out to join me for a midday meal. It’s intolerably slow today. I figured we could relax and take a long lunch, but I see you’ve already made plans,” he said as he handed Cas pack the tablet he had been holding. Crowley sauntered away with a wave over his shoulder. “Have fun with your dancer friend!”

Cas lowered his head to the table and let out a long suffering sigh. Sometimes he had to deal with the most irritating people.

For the second time that day his phone buzzed on the table beside his head. Shit, shit, shit. He just remembered he had hung up on Dean and needed to call him back. He grabbed for his phone and looked at the notifier on the screen.

‘You still there Cas?’

Cas quickly found Dean’s number and waited for the man to pick up. The moment the line was picked up Cas began without even waiting for an answer.

“I’m so sorry, my apologies for being so rude earlier. I was caught off guard by a coworker,” Cas blurted out.

“Easy there Cas, it’s alright. I seem to recall I did that to you just last night. We’ll call it even,” Dean said with a laugh. “Anyway you were saying you would meet me someplace? I’m not sure how convenient that will be for you.”

“Pfft, it doesn’t matter. I’m leaving the office early. Let me know where you are and we can pick some place near there,” Cas reassured him.

“I just finished classes so don’t really have to stay in the area.”

“Which campus are you on right now,” Cas questioned hoping it wasn’t some school way out in the suburbs. If it was, their lunch date could very easily turn into a dinner date. Did he just consider meeting up with Dean as a date? Maybe Crowley was right after all.

“DePaul Lincoln Park Campus,” Dean quickly answered.

Cas held the phone between his ear and his shoulder while he rinsed out his coffee mug in the breakroom sink and grabbed his drawing tablet before leaving the room. He and Dean discussed possible restaurants as he headed down the hallway to his office and gathered the rest of his things. With his trenchcoat over his arm, his drawing pad in his briefcase and the rest of his desk straightened out he turned out the light and locked the door.

“Someplace with burgers,” Cas supplied. “I’m in the mood for a good, but quick burger.”

“I can appreciate a good burger. You want to go simple or choose more of a full service place.”

“I’m a simple man with simple pleasures,” Cas chortled. “I’d just as soon have a burger and fries from Five Guys.”

“Dude, marry me!” Dean gushed and instantly was overcome with embarrassment over his expression.

This time Cas answered with a full on belly laugh. People in their offices looked out to see what the commotion was as Cas walked down the hall towards the elevator, and tried to recover from his laughter.

 

“Alright, that’s settled then. But I’ll have you know I expect more than a burger with a proposal,” Cas teased. After deciding on the Five Guys location nearest to Cas’ apartment they agreed to meet up in the next half an hour to forty-five minutes to allow for any traffic Cas had to deal with in the financial district. It probably wouldn’t take him more than a half hour taking the Brown line, but Cas didn’t want to chance it. He hung up and left work with a spring in his step.


	15. Chapter 15

When Cas entered the Five Guys Dean was already sitting at a table waiting to greet him.

“Hey buddy, good to see you!”

“Hello Dean, why don’t we go place our orders and then we can find another seat if someone takes our table. I’d rather not leave our things unattended.”

“Good idea,” Dean said as he rose from his seat and slung his backpack over his shoulder. Cas joined him and they headed to the counter to order their meals.

The two men filled their drink cups and found themselves another table closer to the pick up counter. Dean had said it was so they could grab their food faster once their order number had been called. Cas placed his briefcase on the floor and it fell over allowing his sketch pad to partially slide out. Dean reached down to place it upright before Cas could and noticed the drawing of himself. Cas reached to retrieve it, realized what had happened, placed his face in his hands and groaned. It was bad enough that Crowley had messed with him about his sketching, but twice in one day was not what he needed, especially when the subject of his art was currently sitting across the table from him, holding said art in his hands.

Despite his slight embarrassment at staring down at his own face in portraiture Dean was quite impressed.

“Did you do this?” he asked Castiel as he handed it back to his friend. They could consider each other friends now right? Dean thought to himself.

Castiel cleared his throat and simply nodded having lost his voice to embarrassment. Dean sensing the discomfort rolling off of Cas in waves tried to lighten the mood. He reached across the table and tapped the paper to get Cas’ attention, “That is one gorgeous specimen. You know the subject or did you just come up with that off the top of your head?”

The joke had the desired effect. Cas laughed and put his artwork away in his briefcase, making sure to put it in the inner pocket so it wouldn’t fall out again.

“I’m glad you appreciate my work. My apologies Dean, this is rather awkward.”

“Nah,” Dean assured the puzzle of a man sitting across from him. “It doesn’t have to be. So, like, are you an artist or something? I thought you said you were an accountant.”

“I wanted to be,” Cas answered Dean’s question with a wistful look. Before he could say anything more, their order number was called.

Dean sprang from the table to grab their food. He returned with a satisfied grin while he blissfully inhaled the scent of the fries. 

“Okay,” Dean said, doling out the burgers, “number one is yours since you ordered first and the second one is mine. Do you mind if I just tear open the bag for the fries? It makes it a lot easier for us to share them that way?”

“Be my guest Dean,” Cas said as he reached for some fries for himself.

The two of them ate in silence for a bit. Both of them more hungry than they had thought. 

“Have you had enough, or do you want me to order more fries?” Dean asked.

“I’m good.”

Dean decided to return to their conversation from before they started their lunch. “So you’ve got incredible talent as an artist but you spend your days in a stuffy office working with numbers. How did that happen?”

“My office isn’t stuffy,” Cas began to answer before Dean urged him to get on with it with a shooing motion of his hand.

“Focus man, I really don’t care about your office.”

Cas glared but carried on with his boring explanation of meeting family expectations at the expense of his own happiness. Dean for his part sat there quietly listening and occasionally nodding or shaking his head at appropriate times.

“That’s a tough break man, but you realize you really can make something of your art. Keep at it. At the very least do it for yourself. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that you have to make yourself happy.”

“Are you happy Dean,” Cas stared at him with piercing blue eyes. “Does being an exotic dancer satisfy you?”

Dean stiffened and his eyes briefly flashed with anger. 

Cas regretted the phrasing of his question immediately and hurried to assuage Dean of his anger, “I’m sorry that didn’t come out as intended. My family has always informed me that I’m terribly socially awkward. I suppose they’re right. I meant to ask if you enjoyed your job, or is it simply a means to an end?”

“It’s just a job man, a job that pays well, and I need it to support myself and my brother and pay my way through school,” Dean answered with a practiced shrug of his shoulders, a casual nonchalance that had no doubt been adopted to shield himself from judgemental people.

Cas again felt another pang of regret at his inept social behavior. The last thing he wanted to do was make Dean feel uncomfortable when so much of the time he felt like he didn’t quite fit in himself. Cas changed his conversational tactics. 

“So you’re a student at DePaul?”

Dean relaxed more as he began to talk about his dual major in anthropology and sociology and what he hoped to accomplish once he finally graduated. He spoke about his dream: traveling across the US researching and cataloging folklore and urban legends, with an excited glint in his eyes.

“They’re truly fascinating you know?”

“Why did you choose to go to DePaul University though? It’s incredibly expensive,” Cas really wanted to know. “Dean, you have a very unique degree program that I’m sure you could have made work at any other university.”

“Well now, that has an interesting answer. I came to it in a kind of round-about way. See, my mother was deeply spiritual or at the very least had a lot of faith. Mom knew there were dark things in the world but often thought they could be dealt with through prayer, faith, and just being a better person.”

“My father on the other hand saw things from a much different perspective. He was a practical man who figured most problems could be solved with a practical real world solution. If there was a lock, there had to be a key sort of thing . It was always fascinating to me. Before my mom passed away I'd sit and listen to their discussions. Dad would bring up some hypothetical and Mom would explain that it couldn't happen because it wouldn't exist but Dad would be persistent and say ‘well, what if?’”

“Mom would laugh and she would indulge his fantasies about monsters and demons and how people of Faith would react if they existed and dad would come up with practical scenarios for how to deal with them. So as you can imagine I grew up listening to some weird things. As I got older I realized that they were actually real world concerns that different cultures had. Many cultures have spiritual answers for the unknown as well as practical solutions to otherworldly encounters: garlic, medicinal herbs, wooden stakes, holy water, to name a few.”

Dean became more animated as he discussed what Cas could clearly see was his passion.

“I mean look at the whole concept of the urban legend. A lot of them are essentially cautionary tales and if they were real how would you deal with them. a lot of small-town America has answers to these questions they're deeply ingrained in the fabric of this country.”

Dean paused to take another sip of his drink.

“So, when Mom died and Dad began to drag us around the country on his nomadic quest for personal enlightenment and wanderlust, that was the only thing that caught my interest. I’d listen to the people in the towns we traveled through, just to get some kind of idea about how they saw their world. Let me tell you, small-town kids can have some twisted stories,” Dean added as aside.

“So, I grew up with my dad telling stories and tall tales about the different towns we would travel to, the ones where we would sometimes stay, and he would find work. I loved those times. My father was a wonderful storyteller.”

Dean began to get a far away look in his eyes, one of love and nostalgia. Cas looked on fascinated and in awe of the man across from him as he shared tales of his family and of his storytelling father. He could tell that Dean was a storyteller in his own right, and in that moment Cas understood why Dean chose the path he was on. He found himself a little envious of Dean”s courage to follow his passion. He could learn a thing or two from Dean Winchester, learn about living life to the fullest and following his dreams. He briefly thought about the sketch pad tucked away in his briefcase.

Dean, oblivious to Castiel’s epiphany, continued, “My brother Sam however, wanted nothing to do with all of Dad’s tall tales. He had no use for stories, folktales, or fairy tales. He wanted something tangible to do in the world with science and structure and rules. I think that's why he likes the law so much.”

“So, when it came time to decide what to study I really liked the folklore and the illogical aspect of everything I'd seen from my parents discussions. But, I’d realized how large a place faith in the legend could be and how it played into the way people viewed their world, their urban legends, and ghost stories. DePaul is great because even though they are a Catholic University,” Dean paused to make finger quotes with both hands, “they stand more on academics than religion but have a lot of religious resources for my research. That was a big plus.”

“But, the real truth of the matter is that this is where Sam got his scholarship. I was going to look for a less expensive school nearby but he dared me to apply here and see if I could get in. So I took the dare and applied. I couldn't believe it, but I got accepted. My GED and a give'm hell attitude was good enough, and there I was with my stupid pride not wanting to let my smug little brother down when he told me he knew I could do it all along.”

Dean sighed deeply, a battle weary look settling in his eyes that Castiel hadn’t seen before, and added, “I've managed to make it work and pay for it until now but now I'm kind of up against a wall and I'll be damned if I'll give it up. I've got too much invested to give up now and put in for a transfer for some cheaper college.”

“What you’ve accomplished is commendable Dean. I’m positive you’ll find a way to make things work,” Cas said and reached across the table to pat Dean’s forearm with a reassuring hand. 

“Thanks for the encouragement Cas. I’ve kind of needed to hear that lately.”

“Then I should thank you too Dean. You’ve given me a lot to think about today. I think I will take up my art again. At least on a part-time basis.”

Dean attempted humor to steer their conversation away from the serious and melancholy path it was headed towards. “So what are you saying Cas? Am I your muse now?”

Cas’ eyes twinkled with a mirth he hadn’t felt in a long time, “I guess you could say that.”

Dean’s phone buzzed with a message. He pulled it from his pocket and was alarmed to see an irritated text from his brother.

‘Where are you?’‘

He groaned and couldn’t believe that he’s forgotten that he was supposed to meet Sam later in the afternoon. He quickly typed back.

‘Sorry, Sorry. Lost track of time, had lunch with Cas. Be there in a bit’

“Something wrong,” Cas asked concerned.

“I was supposed to meet Sam for something this afternoon. Look I hate to run,” Dean rushed as he slung his backpack over his shoulder, “especially since we’ve been having such a great time.”

“I understand Dean. Would you mind if we did this again sometime?” Cas asked with hope on his face.

Dean nodded and winked at him. “Sure, but only if you have more artwork to show me.”

“It’s a deal then!” Cas beamed. “I’ll see you around Dean, take care”

Cas remained for a few minutes after his friend left and thought about how today had been his best day since he had moved to Chicago. Maybe it wasn’t the place that had significant meaning or brought him contentment so much as the people he shared that place with. It turned out, the right people could make all the difference in the world.

On the walk home Cas once again looked at his neighborhood with the eyes of an artist. Jokes aside it appeared that Dean Winchester really was his muse.


	16. Epilogue

Every week since their first lunch together, Castiel wouldn’t really call it a date, they were just friends after all, he and Dean would meet for at least one meal. Dean would regal Cas with either his own adventures in stripping, there were plenty of crazy stories, especially now that he’d contracted with Gabriel in the long term, or urban legends he’d learned about from his father. And of course there were always his studies to talk about.

Before long Cas had met Sam and joined both of the brothers for their regular Monday lunch date at Banko’s. He had even been introduced to Charlie who made sure to inform Dean that he was indeed dreamy. Cas had slowly become a part of Dean’s world and Dean a part of his.

Cas would share his ever growing portfolio with Dean and sometimes get him to sit still while he did quick sketches. Sam and Charlie had also been enlisted as models. In fact Cas had even given Dean a framed oil pastel of the three of them to hang in the brother's apartment. He carried a sketchbook everywhere with him and finally started doing the artistic work he’d set out to do when he’d first moved to the city. He sketched people in the parks, on public transportation to and from his work, in restaurants, anywhere imaginable.

He even did a speed sketch of the stern woman who shared his commute on the brown line that reminded him of his mother. On a whim he had approached her and offered her the piece. She had scowled at him when he first approached her, but what woman wasn’t apprehensive of strange men on public transit? He explained that it was a gift, that he just enjoyed being able to do his art and how he wanted her to have it. She took it and as she studied the drawing her features began to soften.

“Is this how you really see me?” she whispered. 

“It is,” Cas assured her. 

“Thank you,” she gushed as a broad smile lit up her face.

The hope he had carried with him when he first moved to Chicago had returned and he was more than happy to be out of his isolated bubble and share his joy.

Despite Dean having hardly anytime for a social life and Cas being numb to his art the two of them had managed to come together and to a bond of friendship both of them sorely needed. 

Together they were stronger and found that with the support of each other their lives were much more enjoyable and less stressful. They no longer felt like tourist adrift in their city, but as if they belonged.


End file.
